


Taste of Your Poison Paradise

by HoodiesandComputers



Series: Olicity AUs [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), olicity - Fandom
Genre: AU, F/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, prostitute/client
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodiesandComputers/pseuds/HoodiesandComputers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MULTICHAPTER SEQUEL NOW PUBLISHED: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913989"> "Shared My Body and My Mind With You (That's All Over Now)."</a> </p><p> </p><p>"Taking another step inside the hotel room, Felicity quietly says, 'Come in.'" Olicity prostitute / client AU, where Oliver is a ridiculously good-looking prostitute and Felicity's searching for five thousand dollar lay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taste of Your Poison Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I'm working on This is the Way You'll Remember Me! I've been writing this smutty piece for a while, but then I got with a really bad case of writer's block. Until last night. This is a thank you gift for my supporters - I really appreciate it! So thank you guys!
> 
> I now present to you Olicity prostitute/client AU. :D This is pretty explicit, so be warned. Also, I tried to fix a few grammatical errors, so pardon me if you see a glaring mistake. Happy reading!
> 
> Edit: The WONDERFUL and incomparable [Mariah](http://fe-li-ci-ty.tumblr.com/) made the stunning graphic. Thank you!

It takes her a second to realize someone’s knocking on her door.

 _Oh no_. 

Her brain kicks into overdrive and she finds herself shaking from an onslaught of adrenaline. Saliva pools inside her mouth and she swallows thickly, unable to calm her nerves. A chill washes over her; she shivers and sits on the bed, bouncing her leg from nervousness. 

There’s another knock, a bit louder, and all Felicity wants to hide in the closet and pretend none of this is happening. Except, of course, she already withdrew five thousand dollars in cash, which took a lot of strings to pull, and there’s no going back. She needs to use her money’s worth, even if it may cost her a lifetime of embarrassment.

Felicity could make very irrational and stupid decisions sometimes.

Gathering whatever courage she has left, Felicity bravely stands up, smoothes out her shirt and inhales deeply. Felicity made a choice and it’s a choice she’s going to go through. Clenching her muscles, Felicity robotically walks to the door and shakily grabs onto the door handle. She waits one, two heartbeats, and lets the cold air seep into her skin, desperately hoping it’ll help her calm down.

It doesn’t.

The door flies open, and she’s completely and utterly unprepared for the sight in front of her. Not only is her escort for the night carrying a very expensive bottle of red wine (which she mentioned on the form she liked, but she never expected him to  _bring_  it), but he is incredibly good looking, so much so Felicity doesn’t know what to say. That’s a first.

Online his profile picture was -- naturally -- taken professionally and meant to rival a Tom Ford ad in terms of which photograph is more risqué, but he's something else in person. Her . . .  _whatever_  for the night is about six feet tall, ripped, and annoyingly cocky. His stance screams nothing but confident and his eyes drink in her appearance, feasting Felicity with no restraint. There’s a small amount of stubble peppering his skin, and his jawline can slice anyone in a moment’s notice. In short, he’s a combination of every wet dream she’s ever had and then some.

But it seems fake. 

Felicity takes a step back and opens her mouth to say something — anything — but she’s speechless. She’s unable to process that yes, she hired a prostitute for an hour. Hiring someone to take care of her sexual needs feels absolutely silly and not at all the kind of pampering she was hoping to expect.

She’s no stranger to having sex with random people; in fact it’s easier for her. Her job is demanding, her mind is too complicated, and being alone means having one less person to take care of. Felicity had hoped getting a professional to do the deed would sate her needs, but she hadn’t realized how _desperate_  this would look. Sure, she can detach herself from love and sex, but she feels  _cheap_  all of a sudden and she’s starting to regret her decision.

Taking another step inside the hotel room, Felicity quietly says, “Come in.”

The man grins, his lips moving upwards just a bit more than normal, and his eyes glitter with mischief. “Thank you." His voice is husky and a little raw from not having talked in awhile. He gives a curt nod and saunters inside as if he’s been in here before. Figures. The agency said since it’s her first time they would provide the room and give an additional thirty minutes in the event she needs more. Well. 

She gets a strong whiff of his cologne, which smells absolutely heavenly, and Felicity quickly shuts the door behind her to dispel any peeping Toms.

 _Here goes_.

The man bustles about and gently places the wine bottle on the table — next to the envelope filled with fifty one hundred dollar bills — and his hands going inside his pockets as he waits for Felicity. Rocking on his heels and intently staring at her, he gently asks, “Why don’t you come a little closer?”

Felicity hadn’t realized she was cowering against the doorframe. She’s not scared, she just . . .  

Standing a little straighter Felicity walks towards the bed, keeping a careful distance from the escort. “I-I left the envelope right there, in front of you. I wasn’t sure if I give it now or later?” The man nearly opens his mouth but Felicity beats it to him, and she finds herself unable to stop her word vomit from happening. “Because I wouldn’t want you to do a job you’re probably bored of and not get paid for it. It’s not fair to not get paid for your sort of craftsmanship.”

A deep and sickening flame of humiliation erupts inside of her, and Felicity closes her eyes as she attempts to regain her senses. “I . . . probably shouldn’t have said anything.” Flicking her eyes at the man, she squeaks, “I have problems when I talk.”

The man laughs, a deep and slow chuckle. “It’s fine.” He swallows and straightens his back, his eyes taking her in a little  _too_  much.  _Fake_. Felicity notices him puffing out his chest and takes a deep breath. “My name’s Oliver. What’s yours?”

That's not the name she saw on his profile, which confuses her a little bit, but she lets it slide since she can tell he's the same man she had requested. "Felicity," she replies hurriedly, trying to get this over with. (It’s silly — she’s spent five thousand dollars and she suddenly wants to leave.) Twiddling her thumbs, she looks at the ground and tries to focus on anything else but him. "I work in IT."

She doesn’t know why she told him her occupation — maybe she’s searching for some sense of normalcy during this transaction. Regardless, it doesn’t make the situation any better because the man — well, Oliver — simply brushes her comment aside and replies with a clipped “Interesting.” Perhaps he’s been advised not to get attached to his clients. 

But then he suddenly says, “Tell me about your job” and Felicity finds herself a little perplexed. Does he really want to know what her job entails, or is his question a standard procedure? As Felicity attempts to reel in her thoughts, Oliver casually sits on then chair next to a small table, doing the dishonorable thing and immediately man spreading.  _Such a turnoff_. 

She admonishes herself for being picky about her prostitute just because he spreads his legs too much when he’s sitting down, although Felicity is beginning to enjoy the view. Clearing her throat and ignoring Oliver’s intense staring, she explains, “I work in IT research actually. It’s all very technical, so.” 

"Ah" is all Oliver says. Great, now she’s even made a  _prostitute_  bored. Sighing in defeat, Felicity crosses her arms and focuses on the ground, mentally kicking herself for ruining Pampering Night. Her mouth opens to add more, to fix her mistake, but once again she’s left speechless. 

A burst of panic hits her, so painful she’s worried she might explode right in front of Oliver.  _Oh no, oh no, oh no . . ._ Felicity can feel herself breaking out into a sweat and her mouth gets dry. She can’t do this. What was she even thinking? Only super rich and lonely ladies hire prostitutes and fuck inside The Ritz. Coming here was a very big mist —

"Hey, relax." 

Snapping her eyes up to his, she looks up and sees Oliver stepping closer and closer to her. Before she knows it, he’s placing both of hands on hers, gently prying them away and grabbing onto them. He leans forward, his sinful presence clouding every sensory feeling for Felicity. Flinching upon contact, she reddens as a warmth blossoms from the pit of her stomach and coats every inch of her skin. Oliver’s touch is magnetic, a black hole waiting to suck anyone in. He’s bad news, she can feel it. 

"How about I give you a quick massage?" His hands have moved up her arms and slowly rubbing her biceps, his calloused hands tickling her nerves. Fuck, she is  _so_  screwed. Closing her eyes momentarily, Felicity takes it all in — his scent, the feel of his hands gently placed upon her arms, the fact a very good looking man is here to have animalistic sex with her . . .

"No." 

It’s almost laughable how shocked Oliver looks. Almost. His hands are frozen, his entire body is ridged, his perfect blue eyes are round, and all traces of confidence are effectively wiped away. “No?”

Felicity begins to feel his hands losing their grip and she’s scared for a second. “Not like  _that_ ,” she stresses. “Not like I want to stop or something. I don’t. I would like a massage since I’m always so wound up, but I don’t — I don’t . . . want a  _massage_.” 

There. She feels better, more in control. Oliver’s hands are still on her arms, but he’s moved back slightly. He watches her carefully, a scientist unsure of how to deal with a new enigma, an employee confused by his client. Felicity can see the gears running inside his head, so to save him a headache she continues.

"I don’t want coddling, if that makes sense?" 

She doesn’t need someone to tell her she’s beautiful and deserves all the diamonds in the world. That’s not why she hired a prostitute. She wants to have mind-numbing, exhilarating,  _dirty_  sex. She wants to leave this hotel feeling like jelly and so thoroughly sated she doesn’t crave another one night stand for a  _month_.

She wants to be fucked. 

The mood shifts from awkward to pure energy. It cackles and screams and itches her skin, leaving her breathless. Felicity can feel it — what it is, she’s not sure. And she thinks Oliver can too, because he steps back and gives them room to breathe, watching her with an incredible amount of intensity she _knows_  it’s not fake. It couldn’t be. 

A good ten seconds pass where Oliver inhales deeply, his eyes narrowing and swiftly turning dark and dangerous. A shiver runs down Felicity’s spine and she gulps, her skin burning. She watches him for a moment, getting used to Oliver’s presence, when he offers:

"Well then, tell me how you want me to fuck you."

* * *

 Felicity doesn’t get jealous easily. Well maybe on occasion, but she’s a certified genius who makes six figures and is a MIT graduate. She has no reason to compare herself to others — she’s happy with her life. Except, of course, seeing a shirtless Oliver in front of her as his perfectly chiseled and hairless abs mock her. 

Groaning in frustration, Felicity rubs her forehead and sighs. “Really? This is what you look like? Are you even real?”

Oliver laughs and Felicity notices how his stomach contracts, the way his lips tug upward and how his eyes crinkle in delight. “Would it make you feel better if I told you I went through a fat phase?”

Rolling her eyes she scoffs, “I bet a fat phase for you is gaining ten pounds.” Using her elbows, Felicity leans on the bed and tilts her head to the side, not at all embarrassed by her half naked state, which is considerably odd. Perhaps being honest with Oliver allowed her to be more free. She quirks an eyebrow, thankful she left her glasses at home and opted for contacts.

"Something like that." He leans forward, his body hovering over Felicity as he slowly crawls up to her. Felicity’s heart begins to pump erratically and her mouth goes dry as she watches him with rapt attention. He’s a lion ready to swallow his prey, and the hungry look he’s giving her makes her head spin. In response, Felicity lies down on the bed and waits. 

Eventually, he’s hovering directly above except his body isn’t touching her. He’s putting all of his weight on his palms, and Felicity can finally get a good look at him. His pupils have dilated and he’s breathing heavily, and his cheeks have turned a bit red. Without meaning too, Felicity glances down at the exceptionally large bulge in his jeans and a shot of desire hits her. Is he always like this with his clients or did he take a few pills before coming here? The thought makes her a tiny bit squeamish, and so she shifts under him, feeling uneasy.

It seems Oliver noticed and doesn't make a move to touch her. “Do you want me to kiss you?” 

She’s caught off guard. “You’re asking my permission?”

"Why not?" Oliver smirks and glances down at her body before focusing back on Felicity. "You gave me a list of what you wanted me to do to you. Might as well add on to it."

It takes her a moment to process what he’s saying. “So . . . Do you want me to order you around?” Frankly, the thought of it sounds a little tiring. She’s not sure if she wants to spend the entire time barking orders. Besides, Oliver is a top-notch prostitute — she has full faith in his abilities, and she doubts she’ll have to tell him anything. 

Sensing Felicity’s going through a bit of a crisis, Oliver smiles and licks his lips.  _Jesus Christ_. “Let me rephrase,” he begins. “ _How_  do you want me to kiss you?” 

Now that’s an interesting question. “I don’t . . . know?” She tries to mull over his question — is he expecting her to ask for a full-blown make out session? Are there different ways of kissing? 

"Here, let me help you out," Oliver whispers gently. His face is slowly coming down and before she knows it he’s kissing her, taking her upper lip soft and slow before pulling back. The kiss is chaste and sweet, and when Felicity opens her eyes Oliver’s pulled back again, not touching her and waiting for her to say something.

That was, for lack of a better word, bland. She doesn’t want a chaste kiss, because Felicity’s received a fair share of them. There have been sloppy kisses, terrible kisses, drunken kisses, and simple kisses, but it’s not what she wants. She wants —

"I want it to be passionate," she says breathlessly. A glint appears in Oliver’s eye and Felicity  _finally_ gets what he meant. And now, she can’t stop herself because it feels good knowing he’s here to service her needs. Just Felicity’s.

"I want your body pressed up against me."

He crashes his lips onto hers and she feels it this time —  _hunger_. His warm body molds onto hers, his smooth skin tingling her nerves while simultaneously igniting a fire in her. A flash of desire hits her and her stomach twists as Oliver kisses her fiercely, and she feels his left arm wrapping around her back, holding her close. She arches up to him but Oliver pulls back — why, she doesn’t know.

Instead, he focuses his time and energy on the kiss, taking her lower lip and nibbling on it. She’s breathing harshly now, and her hands have landed on either side of his face, her fingers gently scratching his stubble. Oliver’s face is gently pressed against hers, while her right leg is softly hooked over his. His hand comes up to the side of her face, caressing it with such tenderness that Felicity has to wonder how he's controlling himself. Briefly glancing at Felicity, he swipes his tongue and silently asks Felicity to open up.

She’s not prepared for the way his tongue curls around hers, the way he tastes — a hint of mint and coffee — and how his large hands trap her. She likes it. A lot. And it isn’t long before she moans wantonly into his mouth, her reaction spurring him on. Oliver grunts just a little and moves, his hips suddenly flush against hers and Felicity can  _feel_  him.  _Oh God_. Unable to hold herself back, Felicity moans again and wraps both legs around his hips, no longer caring if he fulfills her request from earlier. 

Oliver leaves her lips and goes straight to her neck, kissing every inch fast and sometimes slow. He stops over at her pulse point and sucks gently, and without her own accord Felicity gasps at the sensation. Her skin burns, electrified by the onslaught of emotions she's feeling. Her hand has traveled to his luscious head of hair and she pulls on it, wanting to kiss him again. Oliver obliges, quickly pecking her for one, two seconds before leaving her lips and heading straight to her chest. 

He tastes her skin there and it’s embarrassing how hard she’s breathing. Gulping and attempting to breathe in as much oxygen as she can, she doesn’t notice when Oliver’s hand goes to her back and swiftly unhooks her bra. This is odd — she didn’t ask for him to do that but she’s definitely not complaining. 

A whoosh of anticipation hits her once he’s released her tiny black bra (not sexy but certainly appropriate), and he dives straight to her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth. “Oh God." Her nerves have spiraled out of control and she arches her back, her head digging deeper into the pillow. The ponytail she has on painfully pinches her head, but she ignores it because what Oliver’s doing to her is beyond sinful. 

As Oliver teases her right breast he begins to knead the left, and his rough hands slightly tickle her. She smiles for a moment, surprised she’s enjoying this as much as she is. Most of her hookups were fast and gave her little stimulation, but Oliver’s doing everything he can to get her aroused and she’s enjoying the hell out of it.

"This, this I like," she pants just as Oliver gently bites down on her nipple. She can feel Oliver’s lips turn into a smile against her skin and she laughs, feeling weightless. 

He finally lets go of her breasts and peeks up at her, and Felicity’s breath catches in her throat. If Oliver looked sexy pre-hookup he looks downright wicked as of now — his hair is mussed up, all due to Felicity, his lips are swollen and his eyes have turned into a deep shade of blue. He’s breathing harshly, and the half-hooded gaze he’s giving her is so incredibly erotic she can’t  _think_.

And before she knows it, he’s trailing kisses on her stomach and getting dangerously close to where she’s wanted him all along. Her mouth goes dry as Oliver’s fingers hook around the waistband of her matching black panties. Glancing at Felicity briefly, he gently tugs on her underwear and Felicity lifts her hips, watching him carefully as he pulls them down all the way and throwing it to the side. 

Out of nowhere a flash of embarrassment hits her because she’s soaking wet and completely naked whereas Oliver’s still in his jeans. She’s not shy when it comes to sex, but she’s gotten used to the formulaic way sex  _can_  go. The surprise and excitement rarely happens during one-night stands, and knowing Oliver’s going down on her all because she requested it is a new sensation for her. But it feels good.

"Jesus you’re so wet," Oliver rasps. His voice causes her to shiver, because he doesn’t sound like a guy happy that  _he’s_  made her aroused — he’s turned on that  _she_  actually is. And Felicity realizes this is no longer fake. Oliver isn’t handling her like a client, he’s treating her as a queen. 

The anticipation is killing her and she doesn’t know what to say — all she’s looking forward to is going over the edge with this gorgeous man taking her there. Her breathing escalates as Oliver hooks her legs over shoulders, effectively trapping her. She can feel his breath ghosting over her, cooling the warmth dripping out of her. He gives her one more sinful look — mouth open, eyes burning with desire — before dropping his lips and tasting her.

Felicity's received a handful moments of oral sex and it’s been largely decent, but this . . . Oliver runs his tongue along her slit and Felicity bucks, slightly embarrassed she’s reacting the way she is. But she can’t help it because this is other worldly and her entire body is flaming. She’s never felt this way before. She’s feel uninhibited, out of control, and Felicity _loves_  it. 

Oliver continues to run his tongue along her slit, teasing her, until he sucks on her clit and she can’t breathe. Felicity moans loudly, her eyes closing in pleasure and her stomach tightening from the pressure. “Holy shit,” she groans out. 

Instead of replying or grinning, Oliver simply hums his approval and makes such a dirty sound before lapping her that she can’t restrain a cry escaping from her lips.

At this point Felicity’s forgotten all about telling Oliver what to do because he clearly knows  _how_  to. He alternates between pushing his tongue inside of her and toying with her clit, or using his fingers and curling them to create the most delicious friction. The pressure builds inside her — she thrashes and moans and grunts, but Oliver holds her steady with his strong grip. 

Reality escapes her. All Felicity is aware of the way Oliver’s tongue and fingers feel against her, and as she gasps for more air she can only think  _Oh my God_  before pinching her eyes shut as the pleasure gets too intense. Her heels dig into Oliver’s back, leaving bruises no doubt, and as the pressure builds Felicity’s only aware of how perfect this feels. 

She comes just as Oliver puts the perfect amount of pressure on her clit and his fingers expertly stroking her. Black and white dots bounce around her vision, and her body twitches from the aftermath of her orgasm. Greedily, she gulps large amount of air and attempts come back to reality. 

Maybe a minute passes or two — she doesn’t know — but when Felicity cracks open her eyes all she sees a man waiting to devour her.

And she’s going to let him.

* * *

Oliver’s been doing this for a long time. He knows exactly how he got here, but given the circumstances he had no choice. Surprisingly, he's pretty good at his job and it pays well. Since he has nothing else going for him, he doesn't plan on giving it up anytime soon. 

There have been many women he’s slept with. Old, haggard women with four kids and an inattentive husband, rich women (well, a lot of rich women) who are bored, women who have a shitty lover, women who are looking for a thrill — all kinds of women. He likes them all in some shape or form. It takes skill and compassion to be a male prostitute, and he’s rather good at listening and being attentive to their needs. 

But he’s never had a client in her late 20s with an ass so perfect and toned, legs that can go on for days, smooth skin dipped in gold, and hair as bright as Felicity’s. 

So yeah, he was pretty fucking surprised to see Felicity Smoak, the girl who likes red wine, looked like . . . that. And color him even more surprised when all she was searching for was a good fuck and a bit of oral, not sweet and flowery words and fake declarations.  _I like a woman who knows what she wants_. 

To make matters worse, she’s cute and funny, and she’s got the hottest body he’s seen in ages. She’s strong but there’s femininity to her, and her skin is as smooth as silk. Plus she’s responsive as hell, and Oliver would be lying if he said it didn’t make his dick twice as hard as it normally should.

(Thank God he didn’t take any pills. Just — seriously. Thank the fucking Lord.)

Then again, he’s experiencing some things around her he usually doesn’t when he’s with his regular clients. Like, you know, about ready to burst his load just by kissing her and eating her out. He hasn’t enjoyed performing oral on anyone as much as he did with Felicity, and it doesn’t help when she’s moaning so fucking loud and touching her breasts without a care in the world. 

He hadn’t meant to get so caught up in the act. He knows she was supposed to tell him what to do, but Felicity hardly said a word and Oliver was in too deep to even care if she said otherwise. He’s drunk on her. 

Now that Felicity’s come down from her high, she finally looks at him with such wonder he doesn’t if he’ll be able to hold out any longer. Sweet mother of God, she is absolutely  _stunning_. Her skin is flushed and glistening with sweat, her breasts are perfectly situated and her lips are pink and look  _so_ tasty. 

Something comes to him — he hasn’t felt it in a long time.  _Desire_. And he can’t stop himself from feeling that way because it’s only happened a lifetime ago, and this siren isn’t helping. She watches him carefully and communicates a silent “Go ahead” with her baby blue eyes, giving him complete permission to fuck her senseless. 

Oliver doesn’t hold back and he’s ashamed by it. Stepping away, he quickly unbuckles his pants and unzips them, tugging his boxers along with them. Even after freeing his cock from the confines of his jeans he’s still painfully hard. For a brief moment Oliver catches Felicity staring at him and she licks her lips — voluntary or not, the sight drives him insane. He’s suddenly assaulted by images of what her mouth would look like wrapped around him, but right now it’s about Felicity.  _Maybe next time_.

Without warning, he grabs a hold of Felicity’s hips and turns her over flat on her stomach, getting her ready for what she requested next. Jesus, a shrine should be dedicated to that ass. It’s perky and toned, just the way he likes it. 

Eager to get on with it, he produces a condom from his pocket and swiftly rips the packaging. As Oliver’s about to put it on, Felicity cranes her neck to the side and gazes at him, her eyes glazed over with lust.  _Fuck_. Breathing heavily, Oliver strokes himself one, two times before rolling the condom on.

He climbs back on top of the bed, nervousness getting to him for no real reason. Felicity slightly lifts her hips in the air and Oliver places a hand against her back, running it up and down, the sweat gliding off the palm of his hand. He sees that her ponytail — which is nearly falling over — is still on, and without warning Oliver gently releases the elastic holding her hair back. 

Golden waves begin tumbling down and landing on her back, and he’s hit with a fresh scent of strawberries and something slightly spicy. Instinctively, Oliver grabs a fistful of her hair and runs his fingers on her scalp, her soft hair massaging his fingers. It feels heavenly, and perhaps it feels just as good for Felicity since she rolls her head back, sighing quietly. 

This woman will be the death of her. 

Glancing at the clock, Oliver sees that they’ve already spent forty-five minutes in this room, and he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold out for another fifteen and give Felicity her money’s worth. Whatever. Considering how she’s responded thus far, he suspects she won’t mind if they finish early. 

As Oliver positions himself he’s hit with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, he holds onto his cock, teasing her entrance a smidgen. Immediately, Felicity moans and Oliver feels like he might burst right then and there.  _Shit_.

He can’t sit here and take things slow. He just can’t. And so Oliver finally gives in to his desires and sinks into Felicity.

Everything goes blank. 

She’s warm, beyond wet, and _so_ fucking tight. The position is magnificent — he can feel every inch of her and he’s buried so deep he doesn’t want to move. Groaning at the sensation, he pulls back and softly thrusts into Felicity again, while Felicity gasps as he does so. It’s taking every ounce of strength not to give into his basic animalistic tendencies, but she is his client who asked him to screw  _her_. Releasing a shaky breath, he thrusts a bit harder and is rewarded with an onslaught of intense pleasure, coupled with soft whimper coming from Felicity. 

Felicity pushes back a little, asking for more. "Harder."

And that’s all he ever needs.

He loses himself in her — the way her back arches, how it feels being inside of her, the sound of their skin hitting each other when his pelvis hits her bum. The room begins to smell of sex and sweat, and a cacophony of delicious sounds echo off the walls. It’s heaven. He tries not to lose himself in the moment, so when he notices Felicity rubbing her clit he replaces her hand with his, wanting all form of pleasure coming from him. Her breath catches in her throat as she tries to contain such intense pleasure, and Oliver’s spurred on from her mewls.  

It isn’t long before the telltale sign of an impending orgasm is happening. “Fuck." He's worried he’s not able to do his job well. He can sense Felicity nearly coming undone, so he goes back to flicking and rubbing her clit, hoping she’ll come crashing down soon because he can’t hold on any longer. 

Thrusting a couple more times, he sees Felicity fisting the pillows in front of her and she gasps so loud he’s actually worried people might hear. He continues at a punishing pace, fulfilling Felicity’s request and maybe even a little of his own. 

Oliver switches up his angle; Felicity immediately tenses and her breath catches in her throat. Her pussy tightens around his cock and she moans loudly, the sound piercing him and driving Oliver insane. She comes hard at that moment, and the sounds tumbling out of her lips are music to his ears. He wishes he could see her face.

Slowing down, Oliver gives her a few seconds to gather her wits. She sighs contentedly, almost collapsing on the bed.  _Uh . . ._  Anxiousness overcomes him — he needs to come. Fast.

Not caring what Felicity asked and didn’t ask for, he flips her over and jumps on top of her, sinking into her without a moment’s hesitation. And Felicity, bless her, seems to know what he needs because she clamps her legs around his hips. He holds onto Felicity, sometimes burying his head on the crook of her shoulder or resting his forehead against hers. 

She’s a sight to behold. Her skin has gotten even more flushed, but a soft glow is beginning to form, while her hair has created a golden halo around her. Felicity looks like an angel, and Oliver can’t restrain himself from kissing her deeply, fiercely, wantonly. He punishes her mouth, her delicious little mouth, and loves the way she tastes. 

Before he knows it, he’s coming unlike any other time, his skin screaming from relief. He can vaguely hear himself moan unashamedly and Felicity gently urging him on, and her hands cradle his jaw. Her soft touch soothes him, and when he’s done he falls on top of her, not caring if she might find it unsatisfactory. 

Holy hell, that was something else. He’s never felt this spent before, and he can usually get a woman to come at least three times before seeking his release. This was . . . There was a sense of urgency he hasn’t experienced up until now, and Oliver’s not sure if he can come back from this.

He’s never going to forget this.

Now that his heart has calmed down, Oliver pulls back and gets a good look at Felicity — she appears thoroughly sated and relieved. A tiny grin forms on her lips, and without meaning too Oliver’s smiling as well. Felicity suddenly giggles, the sound vibrating through him since he’s still inside of her. Her laugh is infectious — soon enough, he’s laughing alongside with her, marveling at the absurdity of the situation.

And, well, savoring every remaining minute he has with her.

* * *

Felicity opens the door to the new coffee shop, the aroma and overall atmosphere calming her. Inhaling deeply, Felicity goes straight to the counter and looks at the pastries they have displayed. She’s been trying to lay low on the fried food and desserts, but it's so difficult to stay away from works art like pastries.

It’s been a month since the appointment _,_  and ever since then Felicity’s been taking a more laissez-faire approach to life. Well, she hasn’t done much, but hiring a prostitute is pretty radical. And she considers that money well spent.

She finally spots a butterscotch cannoli she wants to try. Stepping closer to the register, a worker asks her, “What can I get for you?”

Glancing at the cannoli again and seeing no price for it, she inquires, “How much is the cannoli?” She looks up at the worker, expecting to see a pimply faced teenager, when she realizes it’s  _him_.

_Oh frack._

Her heart skips a beat and a moment later she's gone from blissfully happy to downright panicked. He’s just standing there, looking at her and pretending like nothing happened between them, as if he’s definitely not a prostitute.  _How in the hell . . . ?_  Shaking her head, Felicity counts backwards from three and tries to assess the situation. 

Okay, so, Oliver’s working here. He’s got a black apron on and some whip cream on his finger.  _The finger that_  —

"It’s, uh, six dollars." Oliver’s watching her carefully and not at all in the hungry way she experienced a month ago. Felicity’s vaguely aware of a line forming behind her, but she’s unable to process what’s happening.

Swallowing thickly, she squeaks, “S-sex?” Horrified she said that out loud, she attempts to remedy her mistake, because she’s definitely not thinking about that right now. Nope.

"I — I meant six dollars?"

Oliver’s eyes are darting around and he moves, a little impatient and a little awkward. “Yes. Six dollars.” 

She can’t do this. She can’t stand here and order coffee and a damn cannoli from the man who brought her to her knees with a brush of his tongue and really,  _really_  big dick.  _Don’t think about it, don’t think about . . ._

It is imperative she leave. “I — Well — Okay I’m going to go,” she hurriedly mumbles out. She swiftly turns and runs out of the store, her heart beating painfully beneath her chest, and her nerves refusing to calm down

As soon as Felicity exists the coffee shop, Felicity stops in the middle of the sidewalk and can’t stop herself from covering her face with her hands. She can't believe she met her one time prostitute at the _only_ coffee shop next to her townhouse. And it wasn’t simple a hookup  _hookup_  — it was the single most passionate, intense sex she’s ever had, and she’s positive Oliver felt it too. Felicity hoped hiring Oliver wouldn’t haunt her again, but knowing  _that_  specific male escort also works at a coffee shop near her house isn’t helping.

"I hate my life."

This is certainly not how she intended on starting her day. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> SEQUAL OUT NOW! It's called [ "Shared My Body and My Mind With You (That's All Over Now)"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913989) and it's a multichapter fic. If you wanted more this is your chance!


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